“You gotta take care of stull.”

Long ago, my father Sylvester told me that. That admonition still sits in the back of my mind.

Dad was referring to taking care of the myriad machines involved with working the farm. Routine maintenance of everything from the gutter cleaner to the tillage tractor is required. It also means being ever vigilant, on guard for loose chains and squeaky bearings.

Recently I’ve been taking care of stuff. Every few years, my 70-year-old Farmall 400 and 60-year-old IH 560 get a once over from the tractor doctors at Miller Sellner Implement.

Both those tractors had prominent roles on the farm back in the day. They planted, tilled, baled hay, hauled manure, etc. Today, I guess you would have to call them yard tractors. They still have tasks. We could probably live without them. But they’re kind of like having an old pet. You want to do right by it.

With old tractors, you live with small oil leaks. When the oil starts being noticeable on the shop floor, it’s time for professional help. Hoses, gaskets, and o-rings wear out. Then, when things are partly disassembled, decaying belts and leaky water pumps get seen.

Around the same time as my tractors were getting the once-over, I was getting mine. I had my annual wellness checkup. That counts as “taking care of stuff,” too. In this case, the stuff is me. I went to see if Dr. Adam could keep me running for another year. I didn’t have any particularly noticeable leaks, but definitely some creaky parts.

As I age in place with these tractors I’ve known my whole life, I thought about our shared maintenance schedules.

I haven’t had a lot of parts replaced yet, but if I hang around long enough, that will come. I wonder about parts for my old tractors.

So far, they’re available, but might that be a problem in the future?

My tractors have been through multiple mechanics. Three generations of Sellners: Norb, Dave, and Jeff. Don Hirsch is gone. Butch Sellner is still going. All of them at times have kept the 400 and 560 humming along.

Then there are young mechanics who like working on old equipment. In the same way a young person might enjoy fishing with their grandfather. Jake Trebesch likes wrenching old tractors and tolerates the occasional dumb question by their owner.

I’ve been through a number of doctors now. Drs. Kruzich, Keithan, Ecker, and now Armbruster. Once I was a young guy with an old doctor. Now I’m an old guy with a young doctor. Same way my tractors were young once with old mechanics.

My classmate friends have reached the year when we will turn seventy. That’s a big number, isn’t it? Seventy means we are in our eighth decade walking around on the face of this glorious planet. It really is a wonderful planet, certainly the best I know. We should try not to mess it up too badly.

Maybe if you’re 90, 70 doesn’t seem so old. I do know that there are a lot of people younger than me. There are less people I can talk to about the 1965 World Series the Twins were in. (We lost.) Or the four Super Bowls the Viking were in. (We lost.)

With my friends, we talk about being this age a lot. We compare aches and pains, hearing and memory slippage, hair loss, et al. I don’t remember talking about being young when we were young. We just were.

What was there to talk about?

If I may, a few complaints about this age I’ve achieved. Bending down and picking things up is no longer fun. Well, maybe it was never fun, but it was easier. In spring there are rocks to pick up in the field. Then this summer has given us enough wind to have many hours of stick-picking-up.

Bending down in itself is not so hard, if it wasn’t followed by having to return to an upright position.

Along those lines, when did putting socks on become a herculean task?

Back to taking care of stuff. In a sense it’s easier to be an old tractor than an old guy. My tractor partners get the best fuel, oil, grease, and filters. I try to get them exercise with the tasks each has around the farm. This is in addition to their regular checkups.

My 400 isn’t tempted to sit around and eat potato chips while rusting and watching reruns of Bonanza. I am. The 400 didn’t smoke for a few years when it was younger. I did. The 400 doesn’t like craft beer. I do.

Of course, the other large difference between my mechanical partners and me is that a tractor won’t exactly die. It could burn up or be totaled in an accident. Or it could just become too expensive to maintain for the value it returns. There are rusted, non-working tractors parked in groves all over.

But if perhaps someone loves that tractor in some distant future, maybe a descendant of mine, maybe a collector, it could live many more years. As long as parts are available or machined by a skilled craftsman, it could keep running. Maybe Jake’s grandson will work at Miller Sellner and take a liking to vintage tractors.

Back to my dad. I didn’t think of it at the time, but he might have meant taking care of each other, too. For years, Pam and I took care of kids. They required lots of maintenance. Now the kids are gone, and we take care of each other sometimes. Maybe one of us will be doing caretaking of the other someday. One never knows about these things.

So, in keeping with Sylvester’s spirit, remember to take care of stull. Like your lawn mower. And yourself. And maybe someone else.

— Randy Krzmarzick farms on the home place west of Sleepy Eye, where he lives with his wife, Pam.